No such thing as sunshine
by FacelessStranger
Summary: This story takes place in some sort of alternate reality where Mystery, Inc. was never formed...It is told from the point of view of a much older Scooby Doo...Read and Review, please...Oh, and I don't own any of these characters and all that....


Oh, the light!! The light, it's so bright. Even with my eyelids tightly shut, it still nearly blinds me. Sometimes it seems like the horrible, horrible light will burn right through my skull and turn my brain into a pile of ashes. I would find it extremely easy to believe that moment when seven o'clock arrives and the lights come on arrives earlier and earlier every day if it wasn't so very obvious that every day is more or less the same here in this horrible place.

Each day starts with me dreaming pleasant dreams involving everything being almost entirely different. I dream of a simple house situated in the center of an endless series of warm, safe streets. I dream of several smiling children eager to play some games of catch. I dream of their proud parents bending down to pet me and feed me as they tell each other how glad they are that I, Scooby Doo, am their dog. I dream of a bright yellow sun that I haven't seen in years and that I don't know for certain still exists. That's when seven in the morning arrives and the unhealthy glow from the lighting system that was installed in this place suddenly snaps on.

The first thing that I see every morning is the faces of all the unwanted dogs as they sit inside their unbelievably cramped cages staring into all the endless nothingness that surrounds them or as they pace back and forth while pointlessly barking at things which only they seemed to be able to see. Which poor little lost dogs peered out from inside the cages obviously changes somewhat as some of the dogs actually manage to make their way out of here but the sea of eyes which stare back at me and project intense waves of sorrow and loneliness which threaten to shatter my soul seem to somehow always stay the same.

A moment later, what grabs my attention is the three dull gray stone walls that surround me on every other side. It obviously is foolish but I can't seem to resist checking to make sure that they are all firmly in place and I am still trapped in this accursed place. As I then continue taking stock of my surroundings, I notice my food dish(which they've been filling with this horrid paste since my teeth started getting worse in my extremely old age) and my water dish(which somehow seems to leave me thirstier each time I finish drinking from it.

The next thing to capture my attention is 'Yikes'. Out of all the toys that they've offered to me in all my time here, Yikes is the only one that has ever interested me. That is why the staff here chose it to serve as the one toy that I, like every dog here, am allowed to keep in my cage. Yikes is a small rubber toy designed to resemble a cartoon vampire. Why exactly I named it 'Yikes' I don't remember. Actually, to be more accurate, why I gave it that particular name is fairly obvious but why I named it at all is a mystery since I have no one to communicate with.

I remember how when I was younger, and the arthritis had not yet set in, I used to chase it around my cage while pretending that I was having all these wild, epic adventures. I believed with all my heart back then that, if I were released from this place, I would be capable of constantly saving the community from evildoers like Lassie or Rin tin tin did in the stories that I had heard about them. I felt as though I was capable of anything back when I was much younger and possessed an infinitely more lighthearted and optimistic personality.

I'll be the first to admit that it wasn't only my worsening physical condition that has caused the drastic change in me which has taken place over the years. It seems as though spending as much time as I have in a place like this one will quickly start to wear one out on a more spiritual level as well. Knowing that the odds of me ever waking up anywhere besides this cage does tend to put a damper on one's spirits. Why, I recall how in my youth I was able to convince myself that the way in which humans speak to each other didn't seem to terribly difficult and I would be able to learn to talk as they do fairly easily. I now naturally am able to see the folly of such notions. Even if it were true that I was capable of such a feat, what on earth would I have to say? Yes, and who here would actually bother to listen to it?

Perhaps I've no real justification for being in such poor spirits so much of the time. My lot is undoubtedly better than that of some of the dogs I hear tales of that are starving or being beaten by cruel owners. Similarly, perhaps the feeling that I am somehow unique or set apart from other dogs most likely is also invalid. If I possessed anything to wager, I would wager that the differences in my perspective from that of the other canines which I've come across in here is merely some form of mental illness or something along those lines and is in no way indicative.

My hearing, along with much else about me psychically, may have started failing a long time ago but still I am able to now hear two sets of footsteps approaching. The two veterinary aides are undoubtedly now approaching. I once figured out that I have walked the earth only a few short years less than they have but their lives have barely begun since they were born human and thus will live a considerably longer amount of time. All the similar examples of the fundamental unfairness of the universe which I have noted are endless. Ordinarily, the two veterinary aides walking towards this room would be irrelevant and I probably wouldn't bother to take notice of it. However, despite what I said earlier, every day is not the same in here. Today will undoubtedly be an unusual one for me even if it ends up being more or less the same for all the other dogs in here.

Now I hear my cage opening and feel myself being dragged out of it. I hear the aides start to ramble on about how it has been decided that I will now be, as they say, 'put to sleep'. The aides describe the procedure in horribly graphic detail but they utilize nauseatingly sweet tones of voice to do so. Occasionally, I hear them chuckle because they believe I lack the wit to understand what they are saying. I try to struggle out of their grasp but am not sure why I do so. What lies before me doesn't sadden me half as much as the emptiness of the life which I have led up to this point.


End file.
